


I've Got Sunshine

by maychorian



Series: Bury the Sun [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Chronological, Original Character(s), Past Torture, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-03-19 06:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13698942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maychorian/pseuds/maychorian
Summary: Lance and Sam Holt have been rescued from the Galra prison on Berav'iv. But some wounds take longer to heal than others.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not going to be a structured sequel with a strong narrative. I just keep having scenes come to my mind of things that happen after the events of Bury the Sun and feel the urge to write them, so I'm gonna put them here. No idea when or how often I'll update this. It'll be a collection of loosely connected one-shots, most likely, probably not in chronological order. This is the first one that demanded to be written, but I also want to write about Lance seeing the other prisoners just after he got out of the pod, the team going back to Earth and Lance seeing his family, Sam integrating with the Castle crew, things like that. We'll see how it goes.

Hunk woke with a start and sat up in bed with his heart pounding and his throat dry. The Altean lights in the room lit up at the movement, dim and unobtrusive. He'd been dreaming of somewhere dark and starless, cold and miserable. It was another dream of that prison where Lance had been kept and tortured. Ever since he'd persuaded Lance and Sam to tell him a little bit about what it had been like, he'd been plagued by these dreams. And he knew they hadn't even told him the worst parts. 

Hunk wasn't going to be able to sleep for a while, not after this. He pushed to his feet, sliding into his yellow lion slippers, and stumbled unsteadily out the door. He trailed a hand along the wall to hold himself up, still fighting for breath. His heartbeat rushed in his ears. He wasn't going to be able to breathe easy until he saw Lance with his own eyes and knew that he was safe.

Lance wasn't in his room. Hunk stood in the doorway for a moment, hand still raised after activating the panel. For a moment his mind was blank, and he felt himself spiraling back, back to that dark time when Lance was gone, and his room was always empty, and Hunk and Pidge and everyone else missed him every second of every day.

He caught his breath, and a modicum of sense returned. Hunk pivoted on his heel and half-ran toward the nearest lounge. Once he reached it, he tried to calm down, tried to step lightly, but he was still a little too desperate and panicked to control his reactions. The lounge was dim, and he hit the light control on the wall and raised the levels enough to see at least shapes and a few shades.

A voice grunted from the couch, and a head raised up, light-colored hair just showing above the back of the couch. "Hunk?" A gruff voice, sleepy and concerned. "Is that you, son?"

Hunk breathed out in relief. "Sam." If Sam was here, Lance was too. He moved closer to the couch until he could lean over and see for himself.

Sure enough, Lance was sleeping on his side, his back to the couch and front squished against Sam, sandwiched between the cushions and the warm body of his protector. Sam's arm was under Lance's head, hand curled around to stroke his hair, and Lance’s face was half-hidden against Sam's body with dark lashes brushing his cheek. Lance's arms were wrapped around his own body in a self-hug, another layer of protection. Jammed into a crevice like this, his body was relaxed as it never was while he was awake.

"You okay?" Hunk asked, looking at Sam after his earnest evaluation of Lance.

Sam nodded gently, though Hunk didn't miss the weariness in his movements. Lance's nightmares must have been bad tonight, or maybe Sam had had his own. They both had their demons, only fully understood by each other.

It wasn't unusual for Lance to sleep like this, hidden away with a breathing person protecting him from any open space. Rather, it was normal now. Sam had explained to the rest of them that this was the only way Lance had been able to rest between torture sessions in the prison, held or cradled by Sam and other kind fellow prisoners, so now he associated closeness with safety, physical comfort with relief from pain. He'd been trying to work up to sleeping alone again, but it was tough. Most nights he started out in his room, then ended up in a lounge like this, cuddled with anyone who was available. 

Hunk had been in Sam's position, holding Lance while he slept, more than once. Shiro, too. Even Keith and Coran got pulled into the duty now and then, though Pidge was a little too small to provide the sense of safety that Lance needed, and Matt was too unfamiliar. Lance was also too self-conscious to accept this kind of closeness from Allura, though she was willing to offer it. Sam was the best, though, and probably always would be.

"I'm fine," Sam murmured, fingers threading through Lance's hair. "He's been sleeping deeply for a while now, might even make it to morning. You look like you're having trouble, though."

Hunk nodded. "I...I'll be right back."

He moved to the other side of the lounge, where they kept a stack of blankets, and grabbed a few, along with a pillow for himself. Lance must have been frantic tonight when he came looking for Sam, since they'd both forgotten to grab a blanket for themselves. Hunk brought his haul back to the couch and spread a blanket over Sam and Lance, then lay down on the floor next to them with his own pillow and blanket. He situated himself, then lay still and stared up at the ceiling. He listened to Lance's soft, slow breathing above him and finally began to feel calm and safe again.

Eventually, Sam's hand trailed down from the couch and touched down on Hunk's head, carding softly through his hair. Hunk closed his eyes with a sigh. Sam's fingers were bony, but kind and warm. He and Lance were both still a little gaunt, just a few weeks after their rescue. Hunk made a mental note to add more fat and protein to their meals tomorrow. He hoped he could find a way to make it palatable for them. They both sometimes lost their appetites, their bodies not yet used to abundant food, though Lance still had it worse than Sam.

"Feeling better?" Sam asked, voice little more than a whisper.

"Yeah," Hunk murmured. "Thanks."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Hunk hummed, considering. "It's not important."

"If it bothered you enough to wake you out of sleep and make you wander the halls in search of company, it's important."

Hunk grimaced, forehead wrinkling. Sam's felt the movement and laid his hand flat on Hunk's head as if to smooth it away. "It was just...just a dream. I've always been nosy, too curious for my own good. So now I guess my mind won't quit picking at it."

"Picking at what, son?"

"What the prison was like. Since you guys told us a little bit about it, my mind keeps trying to fill in the gaps, I guess. I dreamed I was trapped somewhere dark and cold and lonely, and it was bad. And then I woke up, and it was even worse, because I knew that Lance had really been somewhere like that. You too, I mean, you were both there, but..."

"But Lance is your best friend, so of course your heart is more troubled by the thought of his suffering." Sam didn't seem offended. He started stroking Hunk's hair again, and it felt incredibly nice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trouble your sleep."

"Not your fault," Hunk protested. "I wouldn't quit pushing for answers, so Lance finally broke and told me."

The scene was still vivid in his mind. He and Lance had been doing the dishes together after supper. Lance was still weak and shaky, but eager to be helpful, to feel like he was doing something useful, so Hunk had done his best to give him easy tasks that wouldn't strain his strength. They had been joking and laughing, enjoying the physical activity, reminiscing about the Garrison and their early days as paladins together. Lance had been smiling, his cheeks flushing with returning health.

Then Hunk had ruined it all. He couldn’t remember the exact words he'd said now, but it had been something like, _Why can't you trust me with what happened to you in that prison?_

Lance had instantly clammed up, eyes falling to the sudsy water as his hands went still. Hunk should have taken that for his sign to immediately shut up, but instead he'd kept going. Some of it had been genuine concern for Lance, a certainty that he needed to talk about it, needed to get out some of the bad stuff that was cluttering up his head before it festered and rotted. But a larger part, sure, had just been Hunk's morbid curiosity, his need to know exactly how bad it had been for Lance. So he could know exactly how guilty he ought to feel for not getting there quicker, maybe.

He asked again. "Can't you tell me? Not even all of it. Just a little. Please, Lance. I really, really want to know."

Lance shook his head, then mechanically went back to washing the dishes. But the peace had been broken, shattered on floor by Hunk's insistence. They finished the chore in silence, dried the dishes, put them away. Hunk tried to make small talk a couple of times, tried to steer away from that disastrous decision, because he could see now that he'd made a huge mistake. But Lance was silent each time, only offering a slight smile and shake of the head at Hunk's attempts at conversation.

Hunk thought that was it. When they finished in the kitchen, he heaved a deep sigh and started to move toward the door, heading toward his workshop. He figured that Lance wouldn't want to hang out anymore, might go play video games with Pidge and Matt or perhaps seek out Shiro or Sam for more soothing company. Instead, Hunk started in surprise when he felt a soft tug at his elbow and looked back to see that Lance had hooked his fingers in the fabric of his sleeve.

Lance's head was down, but when Hunk started to question him, he just tugged on his shirt. Hunk followed, willing to do anything Lance asked. They sat at the table, on either side of a corner, chairs pulled close so their knees almost touched. Lance slumped over the surface, his forearms braced on the table to hold himself up even as his head bowed almost all the way over. And he began to talk.

"It didn't seem so bad at first. Being captured was rough. They knocked me around a little, getting me there, mostly because I was mouthy. But it wasn't any worse than getting in a schoolyard scrap, so I didn't think much of it. I was cocky. Kept picking at the guards dragging me around. I thought I would only be there a day at most, you and the lions would come bust me out with no trouble, so it didn't matter if I caused a little trouble. I enjoyed it, really. They were so mad, Hunk, but they couldn't do much to me because I was a valuable prisoner. It was so funny."

Hunk caught his breath at the mention of being rescued in "a day at most." If only... A lump welled up in his throat, and he couldn't speak. He already wanted to stop this, but Lance wasn’t looking at his face, and he kept talking.

"The first thing I noticed was the smell. Weird huh? But it was...kinda overwhelming. All of those people crammed into a confined space with only limited ability to cleanse themselves. No showers, nothing like that, just cold water spigots and a few cloths. Some people tried, but a lot didn't bother. So it smelled in there, all of these alien body odors mingling together and hanging in the air. It hit my face when the guards dragged me through the door, like stepping outside of an air-conditioned house on a hot day. I didn't want to be rude, so I didn't say anything about it, but it definitely took some time to adjust. A few days later I barely noticed anymore, but I still remember how it felt that first time, smelling this sort of funky, oniony, cheesy, stale smell of too many incompatible people in not enough space, never let out and given sunlight and air."

Lance shuddered and looked around the room, a faraway look in his eyes. "Sometimes I forget that I'm not there anymore. I guess it hasn't been that long, so maybe that makes sense, but I'm scared that... Maybe it'll always be this way. I'll see a dark corner, or a smell will hit my nose, or I'll feel a cold breeze, and my mind will go back there again. It happens all the time, Hunk. So many things remind me, and most of them don't make much sense, but it's just... It's such an intense sensory experience, you know? Being locked up underground, in a contained space, where the light is artificial and you can't control when it goes on or off, and all the people, and the rocky walls around you with condensation dripping down them..."

He hunched over himself, arms folding around his skinny torso, and shivered. His eyes were on the table, staring through it, not seeing the here and now. "That place became my world. Toward the end I...I even started to forget what it felt like not to be there, you know? I guess I kind of...gave up on the idea of rescue. I didn't want Blue to come anymore, because we figured out that it was a trap, so I tried to close off my bond with her. It didn't really work, not all the way, but I still tried. I thought I was gonna be there forever, and remembering not being there hurt. I hurt...all the time. I was in so much pain. It's hard to remember now, I can't really conjure up the feeling of that much pain, probably because my mind won't let me. Sam says the mind does a lot of things to protect itself, and what I'm feeling is normal, even expected. But it's still weird to feel like I'm there and not there at the same time. Sometimes I think this is a dream, and I never really got away, never got back to the castle. I think you're a dream, too, that I'm just imagining all of this, and I'm not really sitting at a table, talking to you again..."

Gradually as he spoke Lance's voice got softer and softer, and he sank further down in his chair, sinking into himself, into the memories, the sensations that had ruled him for so long and in some ways still did. Hunk had been sitting with his hands in his lap, afraid that if he moved or spoke or even breathed too loud he might break this. Lance had somehow taken himself into a mental space that was somewhat disconnected from the present, so he could go back into his mind and bring out these sensory images and share them with Hunk. Hunk didn't want to interrupt that, didn't want to startle Lance or scare him.

But he'd heard enough. His curiosity was not satisfied, only whetted. He knew this was a mere corner of what Lance had experienced, the barest whisper from the deep well of secrets still buried inside him that needed to come out eventually. But this was enough. Lance was hurting. This was hurting him. And it was Hunk's fault.

The thought jolted in Hunk's hands, spurring him into action. His hands shot up above the table, and he reached across. Only a few inches separated them, but it felt like miles. Felt like lightyears. Hunk watched his own hands move as if they didn't belong to him, distantly astonished when they somehow managed to bridge the impossible gap between he and his friend.

"Lance." One hand landed on his upper back, the other worming in under Lance's bowed head to press against his front. Hunk's voice was broken, hoarse. "That's enough. Please. You don't have to talk about this anymore. Come back to me."

Lance was so thin. It was like holding a piece of paper. Hunk stared at his hands, at the expanse of them laid across Lance's bony frame. He was often conscious of his hands and how large they were, especially when he was trying to do something delicate with food or machinery. He was aware of how easy it would be for him to do harm instead of good, and he contained himself constantly, seeking balance and peace. But he had never been aware of his own largeness quite like this. Not in relation to Lance.

Because Lance had always seemed large, too. In the past. Yeah, he'd always been a slender guy, strong but in a whip-cord way, never bulky. But he was on the tall side, with the potential to get taller as he aged, and his personality was big enough to fill entire spaceships. Entire castles. Lance filled up every room he entered, his presence and voice expanding to take over the entire space.

Hunk was aware that he was bigger than Lance, objectively, but it had never really felt that way. Not once since the day they met. In fact, it often felt like Lance was the bigger one. Always with the big ideas, the big plans, the big dreams. Dreams of going to space, meeting his hero, falling in love, making his family proud. If dreams were fuel, Lance could have powered a city.

And now, suddenly, it felt like all of that was gone. Tears stung Hunk's eyes, and he pressed his big, broad palms a little closer to Lance's chilled and shaking flesh. He wanted to warm him up. Wanted to pull him back, pull him in. Wanted to bring back all of those dreams, all of that expansive personality. 

Lance leaned toward Hunk as if pulled by his gravity, slowly, inexorably, falling under the weight of his own weakness and exhaustion. Hunk unconsciously scooted closer, chair legs scraping on the floor as he rounded the corner of the table, and Lance landed on Hunk's chest, bowed head nestling over his heart. Hunk looked down at the head of limp brown hair resting on his pectoral and felt something inside him melt and give way, drowning in joy and sorrow mixed. Joy that Lance was here, doing this, sorrow that he was so small and tired and in such need of shelter. It had never been like this before, and Hunk was still learning what it meant to be so much larger than his dear, dear friend, not just physically but emotionally as well.

"You okay, buddy?" Hunk asked, voice as soft as he could make it.

"I'm tired," Lance muttered. This had become a sort of code over the last few weeks, one that Hunk instantly understood. Lance needed to feel safe and protected. He needed to be held. He might also be physically tired, but that need was secondary.

"You want to take a nap?" The coded response, an acceptance and an offer.

Lance nodded, slow and weary, nestling his head under Hunk's chin. He was less and less hesitant about showing how badly he craved touch, nowadays. He'd always been an open guy, leaning on Hunk whenever he felt like it, quick to touch and grab and hug. Only after Hunk visited Lance’s family in Cuba, and saw for himself how openly and enthusiastically affectionate they were, had he realized that Lance was actually _holding back_ whenever he wasn't at home. Since Berav’iv, though, Lance hardly held himself back at all, at least with Hunk.

"Let's go to the lounge." Hunk strengthened his grip around Lance's shoulders and drew him to his feet, gentle but firm. Lance let himself be pulled upright, then leaned on Hunk's shoulder all the way there, feet shuffling along the floor. 

In the lounge, Hunk led Lance over to the big sofa that had become a particular favorite of the entire group, and Lance immediately sank down and rolled onto his side, spine pressed to the sofa back and eyes half-open. Tension crept into his body language while he waited, even though he knew he would only be alone for a few moments. Hunk fetched a blanket from the pile on the other side of the lounge, then brought it back and lay down next to Lance, pulling the blanket over them both. He could feel Lance's entire body relax as their sides pressed together, and Lance pushed his head forward and snuggled into Hunk's shoulder, hiding his face.

Hunk wrapped his arm around his buddy, squirming it between Lance's skinny frame and the sofa cushions, then just lay still. He listened to Lance's breath, felt the heat of his body, the intimacy of sharing a blanket on the narrow ledge of a single sofa. And still, he couldn't dismiss the fear that Lance might disappear at any moment. How many times had Hunk longed for a moment like this while Lance was gone? And now that he had it, he couldn't enjoy it. It felt so tenuous, so hard to grasp. He wanted Lance to be here with him, safe, always.

But he knew it was impossible. Their lives didn’t work like that. Neither of them were safe, ever. Even when they weren’t actively fighting, battling in their lions or on the ground, they were in a hunk of metal and magic-science hurtling through the vast emptiness of space with an entire universe-spanning Empire constantly seeking to kill them dead. They could be die in a thousand ways, every single day, from the life support failing or a Galra invasion or a virus slipping past the decontamination protocols or innumerable other fatal eventualities that Hunk hadn’t even thought of. And he’d thought of a lot.

"Hey, Hunk?" Lance's voice was soft, but surprisingly clear. Hunk had expected him to be nodding off by now—Lance and Sam were always on the edge of exhaustion—but he sounded wide awake.

Hunk turned his head to look at him, almost bumping noses. Lance's eyes were half-lidded but bright, his body limp and relaxed, his breathing smooth. "Yeah, buddy?"

"Um..." Lance shifted, eyes flicking away, then back to Hunk. His cheeks flushed, bright against the pallor. "This might seem like a silly question..."

"Ask away, bud." Hunk swept his fingers through the hair on the side of Lance's head, letting it fall languidly through the lattice of his fingertips and relishing in the soft, silky slide. "You answered my question, even though you really didn't have to. Only fair I do the same. No such thing as a silly question coming from you, I promise."

Lance gave him a fond smile, eyelashes sweeping down over his cheeks, then snuggled his face into Hunk's side again so he wouldn't have to look at him. "I just wondered... Did you miss me while I was gone?"

Hunk's breath caught in his throat, and his arm tightened around Lance so hard and fast that Lance's breath popped out of him in a startled rush. Hunk immediately loosened his grip, choking out an apology, but Lance shook his head and grabbed the front of Hunk's shirt with his fingers.

"No... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a stupid question. I know you missed me. You guys were so happy to see me when I got out of the pod... I know you all worked really hard to get me back. I just..."

"I made you think about the prison, so you wondered what it was like back here while you were in there. It's okay, I get it. Sort of." Hunk rolled up on his side, facing Lance, and wrapped both arms around him to tug him into a full-body hug. He ducked his head against Lance's hair and breathed in deep, trying to memorize the smell. "I missed you. So much. I... I don't really have words for how much I missed you. How much we _all_ missed you. Your room was empty, and it was like having this cold, dark hole right in the middle of the ship. I couldn't even look at the door, had to kind of skitter past it. It hurt to even know it was there. I don't... I don't know how to explain it, Lance. We all missed you so much. You are very, very important, and having you gone was like...was like..."

"Missing sunshine?" Lance ventured in a tiny voice.

Hunk nodded vigorously, his mind lighting up. "Yeah! Exactly that. That's exactly what it felt like." He tucked his chin over Lance's head and pulled him even deeper into his arms. "How did you know?"

"Just... Something Sam said. He said I was like sunshine, having me in that prison was like having a ray of sunlight under the ground. When things were bad, he would hold me and tell me stories... And one of them was about how he knew that you guys were coming for me, because you missed me, because me being gone was like not having sunshine."

"Is that why he calls you that nickname all the time?" Hunk felt the smile in his voice, deep and warm. "Sunshine, he calls you sunshine. I didn't think about it before because he calls you lots of other things, too, honey and pumpkin and sweetheart, but he calls you sunshine the most often."

"Yeah, that's why. After that story, he started calling me sunshine all the time. It's...nice."

"It's true, too." Hunk said fiercely. "Is that why you asked if I missed you? You wanted to see if Sam was right about you being sunshine?"

"Yeah..." Lance's voice was sleepy and muffled now, his face crammed under Hunk's chin. "And I'm just... I'm sorry I'm not very bright right now..."

"No, Lance." Hunk nuzzled his chin against Lance's temple, then bent his head to plant a kiss in his hair. "Don't feel bad. You're bright, honest. You're shiny as anything. You're just tired and a little sick, but that's okay. You'll get better eventually, in your own time. Having you here, just having you with us, that's enough to bring back the sun. It doesn't feel like there's a hole in the middle of the castle anymore, because we have you back now, and Sam to boot. It's amazing and wonderful and fantastic, it really, really is."

Lance chuckled against his chest, stuttering and moist. "Thanks, Hunky Bear. I sure did miss you. A lot. A lot a lot."

"I'm here now," Hunk whispered. "You're safe. Nothing's gonna get you while I'm around. Go to sleep."

"Okay. Thank you."

Now, Hunk sighed and lifted his hand to tangle his fingers with Sam’s. Sam went still and held his hand, fingers woven together in a messy knot without their palms touching. They said nothing, lying there in the dark and letting the warmth and quiet cradle them. Hunk listened to Lance’s breathing above him, sweet and settled and soft.

"Hey, Sam?"

Sam squeezed his fingers. "Yeah, kiddo?"

"Thank you for taking care of Lance. Now, too, but especially back there, when he was so scared and in so much pain. I know I've told you that before, but... I really mean it."

Sam hummed and rubbed his thumb over the length of Hunk's knuckle. "Something in particular bring this on?"

"Just...thinking. You call Lance sunshine, and it... It really suits him. I'm glad you call him that. It's really nice."

Sam chuckled. "You're sunshine, too, Hunk. I thought that the moment I met you. No wonder you two are such good friends."

Hunk smiled, his eyes starting to slide shut. "Thanks, but... You don't have to call me that nickname, too. Save it for Lance. It's special."

"Okay." Sam's voice was light and full of humor. "Can I call you other pet names, though? Sweetheart, honey? Things like that?"

"Yeah, sure. I don't mind." Hunk's fingers were loosening from Sam's as sleep weighed more heavily on his eyes, his brain. Distantly, he felt Sam gently disengage the handhold and tuck Hunk's hand under his blanket again.

Sam's fingers curled through his hair, and Hunk hummed, his eyes falling fully shut. "Good night, sweetheart," Sam murmured. "Sleep well. No more bad dreams."

"Night," Hunk murmured in return. And he was out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I mentioned that these chapters would not be in chronological order, right? This one goes back to the beginning, right after the end of Bury the Sun.

Lance couldn't stop shaking. He felt himself sagging against Sam, as he had done so many times back in that prison, and Sam's arms wrapped around his back held him up. He felt dizzy, his knees bending. Still so weak, despite however long he'd been in the pod. Holding onto Sam was going a long way toward convincing him that this was real, but there was still a faint ringing of unreality in the back of his head.

It was like he'd been in prison for so long that he didn't know how _not_ to be in prison now. The sights and sounds and smells of the castle's infirmary felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. And nothing had changed. Or maybe everything had changed. Or him. That was it. Not the infirmary. Not the castle. It was Lance who had changed. He had been transformed, remade, and not in a good way. 

He had been broken. Utterly, completely, and totally broken. He was used and worthless, a discarded tissue on the floor of the universe. He shuddered in distaste. And yet Sam held him, and Lance couldn't make himself tear away.

His head buzzed with questions. How had they escaped? He remembered being dragged outside the mountain, Haggar's voice gloating and triumphant, Sam's desperate shouts. He remembered an overwhelming despair, a belief that he was losing Blue. Losing her forever. He would never see her again. Then there had been movement, a great rush of sound and calamity, and someone told him it wasn't true, tried to tell him it was okay, but he couldn't understand, and it all hurt so much, and he couldn't...

Lance's heart jumped in his chest, and he pulled back out of Sam's arms abruptly, breathing hard. His eyes were so wide they hurt, tears still stinging. "What... Where... What happened? Why...?"

His knees bent, almost dropping him to the floor. Shiro was there in an instant, sweeping him up with an arm under his shoulders, Hunk only a step behind. Lance leaned bonelessly into Shiro's side, eyelids fluttering as he fought for breath. He wasn't in pain anymore, it had all been taken away by the cryo-pod. And still, everything hurt. His lungs were on fire, and he felt like he might faint.

"Lance. Lance?" Voices, all trying to talk to him. It blurred into meaninglessness.

Coran's voice cut through, sharp and firm. "Hush. Let him breathe. We tried not to overwhelm him, but we failed. Everyone be quiet for a moment."

Lance opened his eyes. They were on the floor. He was leaning into Shiro's side, just like he had leaned against Braxia so many times. Hunk was on his other side, a soft warm body like Zalyk's, offering support and heat in the cold nights. Sam was sitting in front of him, tears in his eyes and a careful smile on his face, waiting for Lance to look at him and respond. It was exactly like what had happened many times back in the prison when the guards dragged Lance back to the communal cell after he was tortured.

Everything blurred. White and blue castle walls became rough stone, dripping with condensation. Sam's face, so much healthier and more groomed now, morphed back to the gaunt, unkempt prisoner Lance had met that first day. His skin prickled, and a shiver passed over his body. His vision blurred again, and he was back.

"Sunshine?" Sam's voice, soft and murmuring. Only for Lance. He was holding Lance's hands, rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles again and again. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt at all. Nothing hurt.

Lance felt like it ought to hurt. He'd been in so much pain: agonizing pain, blinding pain. It didn't seem natural to fall asleep and then wake up and have it all be gone. Pain couldn't just disappear like that. It wasn't right. It wasn't real.

Lance gripped back on Sam's hands, almost desperate to feel something. Sam held him back hard enough that it hurt a little, aching in the small bones of his hands. That was good. Lance blinked, coming back to himself.

Sam understood. He knew what Lance was feeling. Knew he needed a hint of pain, just a touch, to keep him grounded. Lance was indescribably grateful. He had no idea how he would ever explain this to anyone else. Thank God Sam already knew.

"Hey, sweetheart," Sam said, still that softness, that tenderness, and Lance's eyes filled with tears though he couldn't have said why. Happiness, sadness, something in between.

"I'm okay," he said, voice wavering. He wasn't, though. They all knew it. 

Everyone felt too close and too far away, simultaneously. He wanted to fall into their arms and sob. He wanted to run away and hide where no one would ever see him again. He was too hot, too cold, too numb, too bursting with sensation. 

He was intensely aware of Shiro, next to him. He remembered being upset at him, though he couldn't remember why. He was pretty sure he had yelled at him. Something childish, something whining. Shiro seemed to have forgiven him, since he was sitting here with him now. He'd held him when he came out of the pod, too. But Lance had to bite down a wild urge to apologize.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done something wrong. Something terribly, unforgivably wrong. He'd put everyone in danger. He'd jeapordized the mission. Everyone could have died because of him, and even though they hadn't, that didn't excuse his weakness. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be dead.

He stared at Sam's face, because that was the only thing that made sense right now. He could make a connection, there, he could draw a line from where he had been to where he was now by studying the changes on Sam's face. He had seen so many sad, pained smiles on this face while they were imprisoned together, especially toward the end. Sam's face was much happier now, much more relaxed and at peace, even as he looked at Lance with tender concern.

"Did we make it?" Lance asked. "Did we really make it?" He stared at Sam's face without blinking.

Sam didn't flinch. "We did, son." He squeezed Lance's hands. "I promise you we did."

"All of us?" For the first time, Lance dared to look around. He'd been afraid to stare too closely, half-convinced that the familiar walls and equipment and decorations would fade into mist if he studied them too hard. Now he was looking for his friends, his new ones as well as his old ones. He had missed his team with a burning ache that never faded, and seeing them again filled his heart near to bursting, but he missed other people, as well.

"All of us," Sam said, low and soothing. "Not a single prisoner was hurt in that final battle. Well, besides you and I." He chuckled painfully. "Almost every Galra in the mountain had come to the surface to witness Haggar's triumph over Voltron and the paladins. Those few who were left inside surrendered."

Lance blinked, and the tears that had been swimming in his eyes finally overflowed. His breath caught. "Braxia? Zalyk?"

"They're here, pumpkin. They're all here. A lot of them are waiting outside in the hallway. We didn't want to overwhelm you."

Lance's breath burned in his throat, turning ragged in his lungs. He leaned more heavily against the sturdy body beside him and fought to get his feet underneath himself, trying to push upwards. "I want... I want to see them..."

He had to let go of Sam to catch his balance. Shiro's arm slid around his back, and Hunk pressed in on the other side. Lance's hand flailed out and found a purchase on Shiro's shirt. He almost let go, but Shiro's arm tightened around him, and he found himself clutching tighter instead. 

Everyone climbed to their feet with him, and they made their way to the hallway in a shuffling procession. Lance's breath came hard. He felt like he was floating, his feet barely touching down. Then the door opened, and they were there.

Zalyk was standing closest to the door, broad furry frame filling Lance's vision. Her face lit up when he appeared, luminous yellow eyes shining. Lance gasped and pulled free of the hands on him, reaching out to her like a child wanting to be lifted by an adult. She was tall enough for it. "Zal!" 

Joy burst in his heart. He couldn't believe he had ever flinched from her. She was wonderful, and he was so glad to see her he could barely contain himself.

Zalyk laughed and surged forward, huge hands reaching out in return. She scooped Lance up in a princess carry and cradled him to her chest, nuzzling his face and neck with her nose and furry, tufted cheeks. "Lance! Little sun boy. I'm so glad you're all right!"

"Zal!" Lance wrapped his arms around her neck and held on tight. 

The others circled around, Braxia, Kiran, Yila, Muerse, others he couldn't see with his eyes so full of tears. Lance wanted to hug them all. He let go of Zalyk with one hand so he could reach out. Someone grabbed his hand, wrapping firmly palm to palm, and he felt other touches on his arm, his back, his head. Someone even grabbed his foot, holding gently but firmly.

To other people it might have felt stifling and confining. To Lance, it felt like heaven. He laughed, tearful and overwhelmed. "I love you. I love you all. I'm so glad you're safe."

 _"We're_ safe," Braxia said solemnly, deep rich voice like a tuba resonating between them. His hand moved between Lance's shoulder blades, carefully rubbing. He had given Lance massages when his muscles were cramped, when everything ached, always so gentle and careful despite his massive size. Lance was grateful beyond measure that he got to feel this touch again when he was not in terrible pain or half-unconscious.

"Little sun boy," Braxia said, repeating Zalyk's phrase, borrowed from Sam's endless endearments. "Little sunshine."

The others murmured it, too, passing it amongst themselves like a talisman. "Little sun. Little sun boy. Sun."

Lance laughed into Zalyk's collar. It was all too much, but he couldn't ask them to stop. It wasn't true, it couldn't possibly be true. But it felt so nice. He couldn’t help but revel in it. 

Lance's stomach growled, and Hunk gasped in horror from somewhere beyond the crowd. "We have to feed him!" he exclaimed with the urgency most people would respond to something being on fire.

Lance chuckled, but there wasn't much humor in it. The thought of food made him go still in Zalyk's arms, no longer wiggling happily under all the attention. His mind felt almost blank.

Zalyk agreed with Hunk, of course. Those two had a lot in common. They were already heading toward the dining hall, Lance still being carried, everyone else trailing behind.

Lance didn't know how he felt about having food. He wasn't sure he was even hungry, despite the protestations of his belly. He'd gotten used to being hungry, to that ache in his stomach that built and built, then finally faded and went numb. Being hungry had become normal, just like being imprisoned in the dark, or being strapped to a table and beaten with a rod.

He shivered, feeling naked and vulnerable despite the full-body pod suit. It occurred to him that he could protest. He was allowed to speak up. The people he was with now would listen. They wouldn't ignore him or tell him to shut up or hit him for opening his mouth.

He shifted uncomfortably and sat up in Zalyk's arms, gripping her shoulder tight with one hand. "Actually... Could I get dressed, first? I really... I want to get dressed."

The procession all but stopped, a myriad of eyes turning to look at him. Lance gulped and almost shrank under the scrutiny, but made himself stay strong. He'd been strong for a long time, though he'd broken at the end. He could be strong again.

"And could I walk?" he asked. "Please." He looked into Zalyk's face. "Being carried is nice, don't get me wrong. This is my favorite mode of transporation ever. But... I kinda want to stand on my own two feet. At least for a little bit."

Zalyk hummed gently through her nose, then set him on his feet as delicately as if he was a butterfly being set down on a flower. Lance stood straight with a sigh of relief, feeling the cool deck under his thinly clad feet. It felt good. Solid. There.

He looked around. Where was his room? It had been so long, and all the hallways looked the same...

Shiro rescued him before he had to open his mouth and shame himself asking for help to get back to his own room. He stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face. "Do you mind if I walk with you, Lance?" He looked around at the crowd. "The rest of you can go ahead to the dining room and get started. I promise we won't be long. I won't keep Lance from you."

Lance gave him a grateful smile and nod, and the others accepted this. They departed, almost all of them taking the time to ruffle Lance's hair or brush a hand over his shoulder as they passed. Sam was last, and of course he stopped to give Lance another hug. It was brief, but warm and strong, and Lance leaned into it with his whole body for a second.

Then he was gone too, and it was just Lance and Shiro. Lance's smile faltered. He couldn't help the nervousness that welled up in his belly. He still felt like he'd done something wrong, somehow. He half-expected Shiro to scold him. But he couldn't remember what he'd done, so that just made it worse, leaving him in limbo.

Oddly, Shiro looked a little nervous, too. He held out a hand in open offering. Without thinking, Lance reached out to take it, and Shiro's big, strong palm wrapped him up.

"I know," Shiro said. So soft. So gentle. "It still doesn't feel real, does it? You can't quite believe that you're here."

Tears sprang to Lance's eyes, and he sniffled. His emotions were so strangely close to surface right now. It was startling. He felt raw and exposed, his entire body a nerve waiting to be plucked.

"How did you know?" His voice wavered, and he tightened his grip on Shiro's hand.

Shiro tugged him gently, leading the way, and Lance followed. "I've been there. While you were gone, I... Some memories rose to the surface. About being a captive. I couldn't stop thinking about what you were going through, and how our experiences might compare, and just wishing...so hard...that I could take your place. It felt very dark to be in my skin, for a while."

"I'm sorry." They passed through halls that felt simultaneously familiar and alien, and Lance looked around through blurry vision, trying to figure out where he was. He felt dizzy again, weak and faltering.

"Not your fault," Shiro said. "And, to be honest, I'm kind of glad it happened."

"Why?" Lance breathed. He couldn't imagine a reason for Shiro to be glad for mental suffering.

"Because it put me in a mentality where I'll be able to help you and Sam more." Shiro squeezed his hand. "I want you to talk to me, okay? However you're feeling, however it's affecting you, whatever you want to talk about. I want to hear it. I promise it's important, and it's worth sharing. No matter what it is."

Shiro sighed. "You're going to be feeling a lot of weird stuff, kiddo. Some of it will make sense, like being sad or angry or scared. Some of it won't make any sense whatsoever. But it's all valid, and you shouldn't be ashamed of it. I don't want you to be ashamed of anything at all."

Lance blinked. They were standing in front of his bedroom door. He stared at it, trying to take it in. Shiro stood there, smiling, still holding his hand. "Do you want me to come in with you or wait outside?"

Lance remembered the cell, the absolutely lack of privacy, Sam standing in front of the toilet alcove to shield him while he relieved himself. The idea of being truly alone, even just for a few minutes, was incredibly attractive. "I... Would you wait outside, please? I'll just be a bit."

Shiro nodded, and Lance slipped inside. Once in, he stood with his back against the door, leaning against it as he caught his breath and looked around. The lights had come up at his entrance, illuminating the space. Everything was familiar and strange at the same time, just like the rest of the ship.

All was as he had left it, as far as he could tell. That shirt on the floor was in the same place he had dropped it before he dressed in his armor for that last mission. The little alien plant on his dresser was alive and thriving, and his knick-knacks and souvenirs weren't covered in a layer of dust, so someone must have come in to water the plant and clean, at least a little bit.

Or maybe he hadn't been gone that long? He didn't know. It felt like an age, though he was pretty sure it had been just a few weeks. So much had changed.

At the same time, nothing had changed at all. Lance's hands were shaking as he pulled out his dresser drawers and found his clothes where they should be. He put on the first comfortable items he found: soft pants, a long-sleeved shirt, socks and shoes, a jacket. Then he had to sit down on the edge of the bed and stare at the floor for a while.

Eventually he regained his equilibrium enough to raise his head and look at the door. He needed to be brave. He needed to confront this. He needed to prove he was the hero Zalyk and the others thought he was.

"Shiro, would you come in?" he called.

Shiro entered immediately. His face was bent in concern. "Do you need something?"

Lance smiled shakily and patted the bed next to him. "Sit?"

Shiro raised his eyebrows, but sat next to him without hesitation. "What can I do for you? Is there something you want to talk about?"

Lance's shoulders tensed, but he nodded.

"I'm glad you're taking me up on that offer to talk, buddy." Shiro let out a small laugh more of relief than humor. "To be honest, I didn't expect you to go for it so soon. I know you have a lot of adjustments to do, a lot to sort out. But if there's something you want to tell me, I'm glad to listen."

"A-actually, I don't want to talk about...about the prison. Or what happened to me. Nothing like that. Sorry if I gave you that impression. It's something else."

Shiro relaxed slightly at the admission, though he seemed confused. "Okay. What is it then?"

Lance hesitated. "I do appreciate the offer, though. Thank you. It's very...kind."

"It's the least I can do. And the offer stands. Anytime you want to talk about anything at all, I'll be here. But it can wait till you're ready. What's on your mind right now?"

Lance took a breath, then another. He bit his lip. Then he blurted it out. "Did I do something wrong?"

Shiro blinked and leaned back, looking even more confused. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know." Lance raised his hands helplessly. "I don't really... I don't really remember that last day very well. But I think I yelled at you. I think I was disrespectful, or I questioned your orders, or... I don't know, but I feel guilty about it, whatever it was, and..." He hunched over himself and hugged his torso, arms wrapped around his churning stomach. "Whatever it was, please tell me. Scold me if you have to. I feel so bad, and I don't know why. It's driving me nuts."

"Oh, Lance." Shiro reached out to touch him, waiting until Lance gave a slight nod in permission. Then he scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Lance's hunched body. He pulled him in close, and it felt really nice. Shiro was warm and strong, and Lance couldn't help but relax into it.

"You didn't do anything wrong, kiddo. Nothing at all." Shiro tucked Lance's head under his chin and rocked him slightly. "I did something that scared you, and you reacted on that fear. We can tell you the whole story later, if you want to know exactly what happened, but I'm afraid it might upset you. Trust me when I say that you did nothing wrong, nothing at all. You were hurt and terrified and delirious from pain. Even if you did do something wrong in that state, there's no way anyone could hold it against you. I'm not going to scold you. Far from it. That's the last thing I want to do.

"Remember how I said that you would be feeling some weird things? This is one of them. It's normal to feel guilty or like you did something wrong when bad things happen to you, but I promise you, Lance, I _promise_ you, you did nothing to deserve this. You are a victim in this situation, and I know that's hard to accept. But it doesn't mean you're weak, and it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you. No one is to blame for your suffering but the people who hurt you. Least of all you."

Lance was startled to realize that Shiro was crying. His voice was thick, and something wet and warm was running into Lance's hair. He hadn't realized just how deeply Shiro cared about him, enough to make him cry. He'd never seen Shiro cry before. Not even when he was the one going through agonizing pain and horrific circumstances.

It was humbling. It made Lance feel small. But at the same time, it made him feel big. Important. Loved. Takashi Shirogane, the hero Lance had admired since middle school, cared enough about Lance's suffering and Lance's feelings of guilt to _cry_ while he hugged him and told him that he didn't do anything wrong.

It was enough to have Lance's arms creeping forward, uncurling from around his torso to wrap around Shiro instead. He wasn't strong enough to hug him as tight as Shiro was hugging him, not with his limbs still trembling with weakness, his belly yawning for food. But he did his best. Shiro made a small noise of appreciation and somehow hugged him even harder, and Lance giggled into his chest, muffled but sincere.

Nothing was mended. Nothing was settled. Lance knew he had much farther to go before he would truly recover from everything that had happened to him. He wasn't even sure if he would be able to eat anything when they finally got to the dining hall, and he was already bracing for Hunk's look of immense worry and disappointment.

But for this moment, he felt good. No pain, no fear, no guilt. Just Shiro's arms, Shiro's tears, Shiro's protective affection. For this moment, it was enough.


	3. Chapter 3

"Lance, please, won't you eat a little more?"

It had become a familiar routine. Shiro was sitting with Lance at the table, his own plate nearly empty in front of him. Lance's plate was almost full. He'd only eaten a few bites. Again.

Lance was sitting hunched in the chair, his shoulders rounded forward and head down, staring at the plate with a blank expression. It was awful to see him looking so...empty. So unlike himself. Shiro forced himself to remember, yet again, that it had only been a few days since Lance came out of the pod. It would take time to recover. More time than any of them wanted, that was for sure, but they didn't get to set the schedule on healing. 

"Lance, please."

Shiro reached out a hand and laid it over Lance's forearm. He was careful to move slowly, to keep his motion in full view the whole time. And Lance still startled, jumping in his chair then turning to face Shiro with a wild look in his eyes, like a cornered animal. He didn't try to run, though. He never tried to run.

Shiro took a slow breath. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I didn't mean to scare you. I was just asking if you would eat a little more."

Lance blinked back to awareness and looked down at his plate. He reached out with his spork and prodded listlessly at the food, some kind of tuber mash, a square of reddish meat, a small pile of colorful veggies. All of it cooling now, lying limply on the plate, rearranged by Lance's spork but not diminished much.

Hunk had been careful to prepare foods that were filling and nutritious, but not too heavily spiced or cloying. He'd had practice cooking for folks who were recovering from starvation and malnutrition with Sam and the other rescued prisoners from Bera'viv. The others were well on the way to recovery now, but Lance was far behind, not only because he'd needed so long in the healing pod but also because his starvation had been so much more severe.

Lance sighed and dropped his hand, leaving the spork buried in the mash. "I'm not hungry," he said. He sounded tired. He always sounded tired, these days.

"Lance, we talked about this." Shiro reached out again, pleased when Lance didn't flinch this time, and gently ruffled his fingers through his hair. Lance's hair was lank and rough, no longer that healthy shine, that thick gloss. Starvation had done that, too. "You went without food for so long that you're too used to ignoring your body's signals. You haven't eaten since breakfast, and that was five hours ago. You need the food."

Lance shook his head. He didn't contradict Shiro out loud, but he resisted passively instead. Another lesson he had learned in prison. Obey, comply, do whatever you have to do--up to a point. And there, stop. On the last principles, never give in. Never surrender. Hold onto them to your last breath.

And that, Lance had nearly done. Sam had told the team, his voice breaking on every other word, how Lance had resolved not to scream, not to give the Galra what they wanted when they tortured him. He had kept that resolve up till right before the rescue, when a druid came in and shattered that last barrier. Even then, he had refused to call Blue for help. His refusal to give in had frustrated the Galra so much that they chose to break both of his legs, just to cause him as much pain as possible. That, on top of everything else, had been a very dangerous injury. 

It was a good thing they had rescued Lance when they had. If not... Shiro didn't like to think about it.

Shiro let his hand fall away as Lance refused to respond. He wondered just how far he dared to push, just what might have an effect on Lance's stony defiance. He stared across the room.

It was empty, the others having gone about their duties. Lance was embarrassed when his trouble with food dragged meals out until everyone was bored, so they'd started up a bit of a rotation where one person would stay with Lance while everyone else went on with their day after they finished. It let the person sitting with Lance have a one-on-one interaction, letting them help directly without the stares of an anxious crowd.

Sometimes it even worked. Sam was good at coaxing Lance to eat, of course. Hunk wasn't shabby either. The others had varying levels of success.

Shiro had hoped he might be on the higher end of the scale. He knew what Lance was going through, after all. He blinked at a sudden realization. Had he told him so?

Still staring across the room, Shiro began to talk. No prologue, no explanation, just straight into it. "When I was a prisoner in the arena, the Galra used food as a weapon against me, too. When I did well, I got more to eat. When I did badly, I got less. Sometimes the worst fighters, the least useful, didn't get fed at all. It was a short path from there to weakness and certain death in the next fight. And the Galra didn't care. They were just fodder for the war machine."

He heard the bitterness in his voice. He let it come. Lance deserved to know exactly how he felt.

"At least I never had to go without any food at all. I never did quite that badly. So I didn't experience exactly what you went through. I wasn't deliberately tortured every day for who knows how long either..." Shiro trailed off, then shook his head. "Never mind." 

He looked to Lance and found him staring up at him, fixated and intense. Shiro hadn't seen Lance take on anything with so much...energy...for far too long. It made him smile, though it was sad.

"There's no point in comparing our experiences, not down to the fine details," Shiro said. "They were different, but they were similar. I never...starved, not the way you did. But I was always hungry, at least in every memory I've been able to dig up about that time. It takes a lot of energy to fight in the arena, and no matter how much food I earned with my skill, it was never quite enough. So there was always this sort of gnawing pit, deep in my stomach. This ache. It never went away. I was never satisfied, never really _full_ in that good way you feel after a big meal with your family, you know?"

Lance nodded. Of course he knew.

"I still have problems with food sometimes. Not the same problems you're having, but I always have to know something is available in case I get hungry. I keep food bars in my room, in the drawers of my dresser. There's a compartment in Black that I keep stocked, too. I find myself haunting the kitchen sometimes even when I'm not hungry, just to remind myself that it's there. I don't let anyone see me do that, because I'm ashamed of it."

Lance made a small noise of protest. Shiro smiled.

"I know I shouldn't be ashamed. I can't help it. Sometimes I would see Hunk in the kitchen, or the both of you, experimenting with food or just laughing and hanging out. And part of me wanted to join in, but I couldn't make myself. Couldn't let myself, maybe. I know... I was depriving myself. And I shouldn't."

He nudged Lance's shoulder with the side of his hand. "You shouldn't deprive yourself either. Can you at least tell me maybe... Why? Why aren't you eating, even though we're all telling you that you need to? I'm sure you know on some level that you need the food, even if you don't want to eat. It's not like you to avoid taking care of yourself."

Lance looked away, staring into the distance with that haunted gaze that Shiro had come to hate seeing. He was breathing hard, as if listening to Shiro's story had taken a physical effort from him. He lifted a trembling hand and rubbed it over his face.

"I just...I don't like it." His voice was soft. He sounded ashamed and stubborn at the same time.

"Is it the taste? Does it have a bad association for you? Does something about it taste like the food in the prison?"

Lance glanced down at his plate, then stared harder, as if studying the food for the first time. He nodded with a look of something like relief. "Yeah..." He sounded uncertain at first, then more confident. He nodded and looked up into Shiro's face. "Yeah, that must be it."

Shiro frowned. Lance seemed far too relieved. Somehow he doubted that this was the real reason.

Lance was just happy to have an explanation to attach to his reluctance to eat. He had seized on it far too quickly, with far too much enthusiasm. Shiro felt sure that the problem was much deeper than that.

"What do you want to eat?" He continued with the logical follow-up. "I'm sure Hunk would be happy to be make something else for you. He really wants you to be able to enjoy your meals, you know, even while you're in recovery."

Lance stared blankly again. All of the enthusiasm of a few seconds ago had vanished abruptly. Just like Shiro had suspected it would. "Oh."

Shiro scooted his chair a little closer and lowered his head, speaking more closely to Lance's ear. He was so close that he could almost feel the boy shiver. It made him ache to pull him into his arms, to wrap him in a blanket and keep him safe. Later. As soon as this was over, he was definitely going to do that.

"What would you like to eat? Just say the word and we'll do everything we can to get it for you. Even if it's not strictly on the diet plan right now. Just...we really need you to eat, buddy. You're not getting enough calories, and you really, really need them. What do you want?"

Lance slumped again, staring down at his lap, at his hands twisting together. He deliberately avoided looking at the food sitting right in front him. "I...I don't know. I can't think of anything."

He sounded so lost, so weary. Shiro closed his eyes in sympathetic pain for a moment, then opened them again. "Okay. Let's figure this out. Try to remember what it was like...before. Before all of this happened and messed things up for you. What was your favorite food that Hunk would make for us? Whatever it is, we'll find it for you."

Lance shook his head, slow and shaky, like a broken metronome.

Shiro wanted to raise Haggar from the dead and kill her again. If she was even dead this time. Maybe he still had a chance.

Shiro closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, then blew it out through pursed lips, forcing his sudden rage to fade away with the air passing through his lips. This happened far too often--he would see a moment of Lance or Sam that reminded him powerfully of how changed they were from the people he used to know, how horribly they had been abused and traumatized by their captors, and he had to work to make his fury subside before they saw.

It passed, and he focused on Lance again. "Okay," he said gently. "Farther back than that, then. What was your favorite food on Earth? I know you must have had a favorite food back then. From your Cuban heritage, or from America. From the Garrison, maybe. My favorite thing in the Garrison cafeteria was the mac and cheese. C'mon, you must remember. Please tell me."

Lance's gaze went distant again, but in a different way. He seemed thoughtful, considering, but no longer confused and broken, struggling to fit his old memories into his current feelings. Life on Earth was distant enough that he was able to separate that from what had happened to him and what he was feeling now, maybe.

"I liked a lot of food back on Earth," he said slowly. "But the thing I missed most... As soon we came to space, and I realized we weren't going to home, maybe not for a long time, the first thing I knew I would miss, after my mother's hugs, was the garlic knots at my uncle’s Pizza Shack on Veradero Beach."

"Garlic knots," Shiro repeated with a breath of relief. At least the poor kid remembered _something_ good. "That's a great choice. Fluffy bread with a crusty outside, smelling like butter and garlic, and when you bite into it, it just kind of melts in your mouth... Yeah, amazing. I could go for a garlic knot right now. Or ten."

Lance smiled. It was small, but incredibly lovely, and Shiro's heart swelled. It was a poor attempt at humor, but it seemed that Lance was willing to take any excuse for an escape from the heaviness. Any port in a storm. Or crumb in a famine.

Shiro's answering smile faded quickly. "All right, let's try a thought experiment, okay? Imagine that you had a big pile of garlic knots in front of you. Hot and steamy, fresh from the oven. Shiny with that buttery crust, the scent of garlic hitting your nose. You know they were made by your uncle just a few minutes ago, and here they are, all ready for you to eat them. It's a gift for you. Just for you. No one's watching, no one's making a big deal out of it, it's just you and a plate full of garlic knots. Are you imagining it?"

Lance stared at his plate: stodgy mash, limp vegetables, unrecognizable meat. He nodded.

"Would you eat them?"

Silence. Lance stared at the plate. Then his eyes started to fill with tears, and he shook his head. He pushed his chair away from the table and curled up with his hands over his face. "No," he moaned. "No, I wouldn't. I can't."

A lump filled Shiro's throat. He started to reach out, then hesitated. Lance's body shuddered with sobs, though he fought to control it. "Oh, kiddo..."

He heard the hearbreak in his own voice. Lance did too. He sobbed harder, then slid out of the chair and landed on the floor with a soft thump. He curled up, his fingers white-knuckled over his face in a desperate attempt to hide from the world. But he couldn't hide from himself.

"Lance..." Helplessly, Shiro slid down to the floor next to him. He put a hand on Lance's upper back and rubbed lightly as Lance heaved for breath.

"Lance, it's okay. It's okay. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to eat. I'm not going to force you. I'm just trying to understand. I just want to help. Please calm down, buddy, it's okay."

"Shiro..." Lance's voice was barely audible, choked and high-pitched.

"I know, I know." Shiro rubbed his back. "I hit a nerve, I guess. I was trying to dig deep and figure this out, but I didn't mean to hurt you, kiddo, I swear. I'm really sorry. Do you think you can calm down?"

Lance nodded into his hands and made even more of an effort to halt the tears. Shiro felt terrible. He was so far out of his depth here he couldn't even see the surface.

What had he even been trying to accomplish? Some kind of therapy? Shiro wasn't a therapist. He had no business trying his hand at diagnosing whatever deep-seated issues were keeping Lance from eating.

But no. Lance _needed_ to eat. If they didn't figure something out, Coran was going to have to try a medical intervention, and that would be far more invasive and traumatizing even than asking questions that made him unexpectedly cry.

Shiro had gotten this far. He might as well keep digging. He didn't really see an alternative at this point.

He kept rubbing Lance's back, alternately soothing and encouraging him, until Lance calmed down enough to sit still, no longer shaking with sobs. His face remained hidden in his hands, but he seemed relaxed. Even more weary than before, though.

Shiro closed his eyes for a second, steeling himself, then scooted closer and put his arm around him. He ended up almost hunched over the poor kid, practically covering him with his larger body. He leaned his head against Lance's messy hair and breathed with him for a few moments.

Lance didn't object to the intimate touch. If anything, he relaxed more, though he didn't lean into Shiro's presence. It was encouraging.

"Okay," Shiro said as calmly as he could. "Are you feeling a little better now?"

Lance drew in a shaky breath and nodded. He was still covering his face, but his fingers weren't as tight and desperate.

"Do you think you can talk about what just happened?"

Lance nodded again and lowered his hands into his lap. He sat hunched up and shivering, but there was a presence in his expression that had been missing before. He was paying attention, though his focus was turned inward. He seemed intent and thoughtful, though so exhausted that it made Shiro feel tired just to look at him.

"Something...something you said..."

Shiro leaned closer, trying to catch the soft words. "What? I said something?"

Lance looked up at him, his eyes bright, though his face was drawn with pain. He spoke with more clarity and conviction now. "You said something that made me realize..."

Shiro said nothing, just nodded slightly for him to continue.

Lance sat up straighter, still circled by Shiro's protective arm. "You said I didn't have to. You weren't going to make me eat. You weren't going to force me. And I think... I think that's what I was scared of. What I _am_ scared of."

Shiro's heart swooped with a complicated feeling, something like horror and understanding. "You were afraid...that I was going to force you?"

Lance's head shivered in a gesture that was not quite negation, not quite confirmation. "Kind of. That's not quite it." He looked up at the table, the plate of food invisible from this angle. "One thing about being in the prison was just... Not having a choice. Even when they gave me food, it was always the same thing, this weird, lumpy piece of stuff kind of like bread. Sam called it 'prison loaf.' It didn't taste good, but we ate it, and being hungry made it palatable. But that was all we had, ever. And then they stopped letting me eat, and even that was gone. I didn't have any choice. I had to let them do whatever they wanted to me."

Shiro felt cold. He remembered that, too. No choice. Unable to control his own destiny. He fought, he ate, he slept, he did only what he was allowed, when he was allowed to do it. He was a prisoner. A slave. He lived at the whim of his masters.

Lance's situation had been similar, but even worse. At the end, his world had narrowed until he knew nothing but hunger and pain. He couldn't even walk when he was rescued. Every single choice had been taken from him.

"So now, when we kept urging you to eat... It felt like you didn't have a choice. We just put food in front of you, and you were expected to eat it, and you had no say in the matter."

Lance nodded, though he flushed with shame. "I know it's...not rational. I need to eat. You all were just trying to take care of me. I _know_ that, I do. You love me and you missed me and you want me to get healthier and stronger, and I have to eat for that to happen. But still it...it _felt..."_

Lance's shaking intensified. Shiro brought his other arm around and hugged him tight and close for a moment. "It's okay, Lance. I get it. Feelings aren't rational. It makes sense now that you've explained it. I know it's hard to make things match up between your head and your heart sometimes. Even though we all just wanted to take care of you and help you recover, in a way we were trying to force you, and it's okay that you reacted to that."

"But you were just trying to _help._ And then you _were_ trying to give me choices, asking what I wanted, saying you would get it for me, and all that, and I _still_ freaked out and I don't know _why..."_

Lance was getting agitated again, twisting slightly in Shiro's grip though he didn't really try to get away. Shiro tightened his grip, just a little, trying to remind Lance was there but not restrain him.

"Shh, buddy, shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay. I think I know why."

Lance went still and leaned on Shiro's chest, listening.

Shiro blew out a breath. "I think you had already made a choice. You only really saw two options: eat what was in front you, or not eat. So you chose not to eat. Maybe subconsciously, maybe irrationally, but it was a choice you made. And when I kept trying to push you to choose a food you wanted to eat, however hypothetical, it felt like I was denying your choice. I was telling you, 'No, you don't get to choose that, you have to choose something else.' So you started feeling trapped and frightened, and when I kept pushing and wouldn't let you out of it, you finally cracked a little and pushed back against me. Does that sound like it might be sort of what happened?"

Lance was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he nodded hesitantly. At the same time, he moaned in frustration. "But it doesn't make _sense,_ that was so stupid of me, I don't know why I'm being so _stupid."_

"Shh, kiddo, it's okay." Shiro held him close and rocked him a little. "It's okay that it doesn't make sense. It's okay that it's not rational from an outside perspective. I'm not going to call it stupid, because it's not stupid. You were trying to protect yourself, as weird as that sounds. You were trying to protect your freedom, your ability to make choices, even when someone in charge of you was trying to force you in another direction."

He chuckled almost soundlessly. Lance was so much stronger than he gave himself credit for. He squeezed him harder. "That's not stupid. That's smart, Lance. That's your body and your mind trying to heal. It _is_ rational, in a way. There's nothing wrong with you. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Lance sniffled, but he relaxed, leaning bonelessly against Shiro. Shiro closed his eyes and rocked him, then finally pulled back so he could look him in the face. Lance slumped there, weary beyond the telling, but his eyes were bright as he returned Shiro's gaze.

Shiro offered him a smile. "Now we know what the problem is, we can fix it. We can figure out choices to give you so eating won't feel like such a battle. I'm sorry, we can't let you choose _if_ you're going to eat. You have to eat. You know that, right?"

Lance nodded.

"So you can't choose not to eat. That's not healthy. But you could choose when. You could choose what. You could choose where you eat and who you eat with. There's a whole bunch of choices you can make, Lance. Lots and lots and lots. We'll all work with you to come up with solutions. You aren't alone in protecting your freedom, not anymore. Everyone else on this ship wants to help protect that, too."

Lance's eyes filled with tears, sudden but not unexpected. He turned his head and wiped his face with his hands, sniffling wetly, then look back to Shiro with a bright smile. His eyes were still glistening, but his joy and relief was sincere, beaming out from his face. "Okay. Thank you, Shiro."

Shiro smiled back and got to his feet, then held out a hand. Lance took it, and he hauled him to his feet. Lance swayed a bit, a reminder that he was still weak and unsteady and hadn't eaten for too many hours. He shoulder bumped against Shiro's side, and Shiro put an arm around him.

Lance looked at the congealing food on the table and made a face. "Can I choose not to eat that, at least?"

Shiro laughed and squeezed his shoulders. "Yes, certainly. It looks even less appetizing now than it did when it was hot." He hesitated, then tugged Lance gently toward the door. "Come with me. I want to try something."

Lance raised his eyebrows, but went with him willingly. "What?"

"Remember how I said I keep food bars in my room? I want to share my stash with you. A couple of planets ago I found these fruit and nut bars in the market that are actually really tasty. You can try one now, and if you like it, I'll give you some to keep and nibble on whenever you're in the mood to eat."

"Shiro, I don't want to take your food away from you." Lance sounded horrified at the thought.

"You're not taking, I'm giving. Besides, I can always find more shelf-stable food later. At the next planet with a nice market, maybe, or I can ask Hunk for a recipe for granola or something. Or, if I have no other alternative whatsoever, there are those Altean ration bars from ten thousand years ago."

"You _ate_ those?" Now Lance sounded horrified in a different way.

Shiro chuckled. "Only a few times so far. But the point is, I have choices. There are plenty of opportunities to find food. And you have choices, too."

Lance was silent for the rest of the trip to Shiro's room, and Shiro left him to his thoughts. Once there, they sat cross-legged on Shiro's bed and ate fruit and nut bars, dropping crumbs on the covers and laughing at each other's jokes. It felt like having a friend over as a kid, eating after-school snacks and conspiring mischief. Lance ate two bars before he started feeling uncomfortably full, and he accepted a handful to take to his room.

It was a start. Shiro knew they had a long way to go before Lance was fully recovered, physically or otherwise. But they'd dug down into the roots of this problem and uncovered some of the mold, and now, in the light, hopefully it would die. Lance knew he was loved, and he knew he wasn't alone. Shiro did too.

Sometimes, that was the best you could ask for.


End file.
